


Soliloquies & Scandal

by meaninglessblah, ride_the_dinos



Series: Gift Fics [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), WildStorm
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Dating, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Embarrassment, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Forehead Kisses, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Polyamory, Romantic Fluff, Smut, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23524624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaninglessblah/pseuds/meaninglessblah, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ride_the_dinos/pseuds/ride_the_dinos
Summary: Jason works a coffee shop with two new regulars.
Relationships: Apollo/Jason Todd, Apollo/Midnighter, Apollo/Midnighter/Jason Todd, Midnighter/Jason Todd
Series: Gift Fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1960108
Comments: 44
Kudos: 191





	1. Steam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scandalsavage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/gifts).



> This fic is a love letter to [Scandalsavage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/pseuds/scandalsavage/works), who has written some absolutely killer fics and is a prolific cornerstone of the DC writing community. Please take the time to check out their work, I’m sure you’ll find something to sink your teeth into. More specifically, this fic is to thank them for single-handedly manning the Apollo/Midnighter/Jason Todd ship tag; hopefully it’ll bring you as much joy as you’ve brought all of us. Thanks again ♥️

The nutty aroma of coffee grounds is thick in the narrow corridor of the cafe, underscored by the faint peat of voluminous indoor plants and the crisp musk of old books. Jason would be surprised if all his jackets didn’t smell of coffee by now, with how often he spends sandwiched behind the counter. Still, Jason wouldn’t trade this job for the world. 

It’s easily the calmest work environment he’s ever had the pleasure of occupying; the muted chatter of patrons and the scrape of pages turning has done more to soothe his anxiety than the six months with his therapist. Even when he’s piled up with orders, Jason can lose himself in the thrum of activity, the mechanical rhythm that comes with being behind a coffee machine. 

And sometimes, when the service hits a lull, he can bend back the cover of his favourite Jane Austen novel, prop an elbow up on the counter, and lose himself in the march of ink across the page. 

The little coffee shop is popular enough. Jason sees his fair share of regulars, takes the time to make sure they’re welcomed into the pokey little cafe. He’s memorised the orders of the morning crowd, and makes sure those seeking some afternoon solitude are comfy in their leather armchairs, curled up with their favourite book, before he brings over their cup. 

The man who shoulders through the door is not one of his regulars. Middle-aged, with a trench coat that sweeps the back of his well-muscled calves and catches on the lips of his scuffed combat boots. He’s got the rough, five o’clock shadow of someone who doesn’t normally operate during daylight hours, and the deep, weatherworn scowl of one of the decaffeinated hordes. 

Jason’s barely surprised when he fishes out a wallet - in black, like the rest of his clothing - and mumbles something that sounds like espresso. He takes it with a sympathetic smile and asks, “Make it a double?” as he churns it through the store register. 

The man gives Jason a look of deep-felt camaraderie that Jason doesn’t feel entitled to, so he hastens to grind through two shots’ worth of beans as he starts bustling behind the machine. 

His hands, calloused with papercuts, run over the jut of knobs and dials on automatic. It’s muscle memory at this point, so with one eye on the temperature, Jason leads with, “Rough day?” 

“Rough week,” the man growls back, though it seems amicable. Some people just talk in barely construable syllables around here. Jason’s learnt to take Gothamese in stride. A hand lifts to comb back through the man’s hair, his sleeve slipping down to expose a pattern of tattooing down his forearm. 

Jason doesn’t stare precisely, but he must look long enough to catch the man’s interest, because he smirks when he lowers the arm, turning it in the light for Jason to admire. 

It’s a full sleeve, blank ink woven around a sun motif. Rays bloom down the length of his arm, scattering stars as they clutch for his wrist. It’s a gorgeous piece, easily enviable for someone like Jason, who’s still working up the funds to finish the one on his lower abdomen. The one that peeks above the line of his belt whenever he leans into the cakes cabinet. 

The pokey little cafe is empty, and Jason’s hands are busy, so he sees no harm in striking up conversation. “Those are some clean lines. You get that done locally?” 

The man grunts his dissent, and goes back to rolling his sleeve up above the elbow. Jason’s gaze lingers on the flex of tendons, and then flashes up to the peek of a well-toned bicep before he focuses on cutting off the drip. _Definitely_ not one of his regulars, but Jason could stand to see more of him. 

“You want to grab a seat? I can bring it out to you…?” 

Jason can see the pink of his gums when he gives Jason a quick, crooked smile. “M,” he answers, and sweeps his gaze over the empty room. 

“M?” Jason repeats, arching an incredulous brow. 

“M,” he repeats with another quirk of those lips. Jason forces his gaze to lift back to the heavy set of dark eyes above them. The man extends his hand. “I can manage on my lonesome though. Thanks, handsome.” 

He’s a little too surprised to blush at the compliment - or at least, he thinks it’s a compliment - but that doesn’t stop Jason from nearly fumbling the porcelain cup through his fingers. M catches it with swift precision, saving both of their hands and Jason’s already-stained countertop. 

The grin he gives Jason then is nothing short of wicked, plucked straight from Lucifer’s lips, and Jason isn’t able to stammer an answer out in time before he’s turning with a flutter of his coat to trudge over to the nearest armchair. 

It’s another two near-miss encounters before the now semi-regular manages to stall Jason speechless. He’s forced to stand there, wisps of steam wafting from the double espresso in his still hand, as he stares down at that shit-eating smirk. 

“What did you just call me?” Jason demands, though it comes out higher and thinner than he intends. 

“Babydoll,” M repeats, and takes the cup from his stalled fingers, melting into his armchair as he inhales the scent. Some sort of pilot light flickers on in the back of Jason's skull, systems running on auxiliary while he tries to hunt down the breaker. 

“ _Babydoll,_ ” Jason says, loud enough to draw a few glances from a couple nestled in the back corner. He clears his throat, shifting awkwardly in his boots, and frowns. Drags his fingers through his fringe until he notices the motion has caught M’s interest, and quickly abandons it. Those dark eyes heat with mirth, and something more. “I don’t think I’m all that doll-like, to be honest.” 

“Just baby then,” M ventures coyly, and Jason has to shove down the tingle that wraps up his spine at the name on the man’s lips. They purse, drinking down the quite frankly scalding coffee, and then a pink tongue makes a slow sweep. 

Jason’s mouth feels very, very dry. “Not baby,” he says sharply, quickly. 

M’s brow arches, his head tilting to look at something just behind Jason. Immediately behind Jason. Jason’s behind. 

He lets the man bear the full brunt of his scowl, if only to distract himself from the way his stomach flips at the attention. Any moment now, he’s going to find that breaker switch and- “Not baby,” Jason repeats firmly. 

“Alright, kid,” M murmurs, kicking a heel up onto the low table in front of his armchair. Jason glares, reaching down to tug his ankle off the wood. M watches him idly as he wraps a hand around the leather, and _Christ_ , there’s some weight behind the man’s calf as he leverages it over and drops it back to the tile. 

“Not kid, either,” Jason huffs, rolling his shoulders back. His brain reminds him idly of the way that makes his back flex, pushes his ass out and draws attention to his thighs. Jason stutters out a wordless protest when M unabashedly drinks down the presentation, crossing his arms - _biceps,_ again - and then uncrossing them over his chest. 

“You going to get that tattoo finished?” M asks before he can summon something resembling a biting retort. 

The question floors Jason a bit, and he blinks, stammering, “No. Yes, yes I am. I’m just- Why?” 

“Looks cute,” M replies mildly, in that deep rumble that makes the hairs rise on the back of Jason’s neck. He runs his hands over them, smoothing down the follicles and his nerves with them. 

“It’s not cute,” Jason grumbles, fighting the urge to tug his shirt down. It’s loose as it is, and so long as he’s not reaching or stretching, it should cover the strip of ink scrawled beneath his navel. “It’s a Shakespeare quote.” 

“Thought you liked Austen,” M comments, and Jason starts at the realisation that the man has been paying enough attention to his reading habits to pick up who his favourite author is. “Don’t you have some gaudy quote from her?” 

He can’t quite temper the affront in his tone. “You don’t like Austen?” Jason nods at the book folded on the low table. “Who’re you reading, then?” 

“Frances Cornford.” 

Jason gapes at the innocent, clean-faced novel, and then back up at the burly man tucked into the largest armchair the cafe has to offer, cup nestled in his palms. “Poetry.” 

M’s lips twist in a smirk. “You say that like it’s a crime, lovely. They’re short literature; much easier length to swallow down.” 

Jason nearly chokes on his spit, and from the entirely amused glint to M’s eyes, that had been his intention. He fumbles for something to latch onto, shoving the man onto the backfoot; see how he likes it, for once. “You got a quote to match that sleeve of yours?” 

M doesn’t even hesitate to turn over his wrist, and Jason almost regrets asking. The sheer confidence in the motion, the controlled flex of the tendons that cord up his arm, has Jason swallowing sharply again. M tilts his wrist, beckoning for the smaller man to take it, and after a moment’s biting hesitation, Jason does, taking a step forward. 

His skin is surprisingly soft beneath the sweep of Jason’s thumb, the back of his arm dusted in a fine layer of dark hair. Jason tries to focus on keeping his grip gentle, turning the printed ink into the sunlight filtering through the front window to get a better look. 

“ _A young Apollo, golden-haired_ ,” Jason reads softly, “ _stands dreaming on the verge of strife_.” 

“ _Magnificently unprepared for the long littleness of life_ ,” M finishes in a hum, and it’s not until he tugs his arm back gently that Jason realises he’s all but latched onto the limb. His gaze traces slowly up Jason’s torso as he draws down another sip. “You got a phone number, handsome?” 

“Yes,” Jason bleats on automatic, and then reconsiders with a spike of mortification. “No!” 

“Would you like mine then?” M prompts, barefaced before Jason’s astonishment. 

Maybe it’s the sheer bewilderment that makes him agree, or maybe it’s because Jason seems to have an unceasing need to wave a red flag before the universe, because forty seconds later, Jason staring down at the digits scrawled across a torn out page of Cornford poetry. 

Mistreatment of books aside - and that’s an offence that would nearly bring Jason to throwing the man out on his ass, if he weren’t sure he’d somehow turn it into a declaration of Jason’s definitely-not-interest - Jason still finds enough incredulity to say, “This is a landline.” 

M fixes him with a look of mock-horror that’s entirely ruined by the mischief sparkling in those dark eyes. “You are over eighteen, right? You know what a landline is? Tell me I haven’t been hitting on jailbait this entire time.” 

“ _Yes,_ I’m over eighteen,” Jason sneers, fumbling to recover from that insult. Compliment? He’s honestly not sure if he should be offended or flattered. “I know what a damn landline is.” 

“Great,” M says, and grins, crooked and confident in a way that twists the smoldering heat in Jason’s gut into a tight, throbbing knot. Up until the man lifts a well-muscled arm, thumb and finger extended. “Call me.” 

Jason turns on his heel and quicksteps it back to the safety of the counter. Paper scrunched in his sweating palm and the man’s gruff, gravelly laughter grating in his ears. 

* * *

He somehow manages to survive the barrage of M’s teasing nicknames for the whole of a week, without fumbling any cups or tripping over any coffee tables (that one had left a bruise on his shin for four days). Jason even manages to bear the array of “sweetheart”, “princess” and “darling” that drip from the man’s plush lips every time Jason bends to pull a cake from the cabinet or stretches high to retrieve a clean mug from the shelf. Always blindingly, hyperaware of the man’s gaze on the strip of his waistline, or his thighs, or his ass. 

It's the “Caramelized white choc mocha if you could, babydoll,” as he ducks to retrieve the carton of milk and a clean jug to steam with that makes him choke. Once he’s recovered from his impromptu coughing fit, Jason turns his watering eyes up to the visage before him and demands, “Did you just call me _babydoll_?” 

The newcomer beams like sunlight, pale eyes sparkling as he shucks the scarf from his shoulders with long, mesmerising fingers. “Too forward?” 

“No, I just-” Well, it’s not that he’s _never_ been called babydoll before. Not with M’s coy smirk branded behind his eyes and his number burning a hole in Jason’s pocket. “Not used to it,” Jason settles on. 

The attention is nice, he has to (begrudgingly) admit. Jason’s more likely to turn heads for all the wrong reasons in an upper class neighbourhood of Gotham such as this one; his broad build and general bolstering posture tend to scare the elite pearl-clutchers of the East Side. Jason’s used to them. They’re better than some of the other looks - dragging like nails down his spine - that he picked up in the Alley. 

What Jason _won’t_ admit to is the suggestion that he preens in the reflective silver surface of the coffee machine just before two-thirty, right around the time a certain tall dark and handsome glass of double-shot espresso meanders through the door. Or that he knots and then re-knots and then _re-knots_ the tie of his apron until it’s cinched tight around the narrow curve of his waist, straining just the barest amount over his thighs and crotch. 

He’s not preening. He’s just… more conscious of his appearance, now that someone else has brought it to his attention. Or several someones, apparently. 

Jason straightens, twisting the knobs as he glances over at the new customer. Definitely never seen him in here before; Jason would remember cheekbones and a jawline like that. That’s the sort of chiselled beauty fit for gods. He makes the rough stubble of M’s chin look blunt compared to that sharp, honed edge. 

His golden - honest-to-god _golden,_ Jason _must_ be dreaming - eyes flicker over the empty array of armchairs and low tables with a soft smile as Jason stares. Forces himself to focus on the churn of milk in the jug cradled between his palms, the liquid almost as bright as the man’s platinum locks, twisted into a lackadaisical bun atop his crown. 

“Cute place,” he comments fondly, as Jason reaches for the caramel syrup. “Got it all to yourself?” 

Jason’s sure that’s just the echo of M’s teasing words in the back of his mind twisting that into something suggestive, so he clears his throat and replies, “Most of the time. I do entertain though.” 

A flash of those immaculate teeth again, and Jason has to check to make sure he’s breathing as the man begins to strip out of his cream-white overcoat. “I like it, it’s warm.” 

“Well, you’re hot,” Jason points out, as the man turns to raise a delighted brow at him. It takes a moment for his faulty filter to catch up to him, and then Jason flushes bright, damning red. “I mean you must _be_ hot! Because it’s hot in here! So you’re taking off your coat and- fuck-” 

The man laughs, bright, booming sound that fills the small cafe and melts Jason by a few degrees. When he turns those molten eyes on Jason, he swears his heart skips a few beats. “You’re a flatterer, darling,” he chortles, eyes following Jason as he blends the man’s drink with tight-lipped focus. Better not to open his stupid, oversharing mouth. “Do you need my name for the order?” 

“Uh,” Jason says, sweeping his gaze over the empty cafe. Then he says, boldly, “Sure. What’s your name, please?” 

The adonis’ lip quirks at the word, but he merely folds his overcoat over his arm and answers, “Apollo.” 

“Apollo,” Jason repeats, trying to keep the bewilderment from his tone. At least it’s not _M._ “I can bring it out to you if you want to take a seat? Shouldn’t be a minute.” 

“I’ll count the seconds,” the man purrs, pausing to watch Jason’s ears darkened to a rosy pink before he turns to choose an armchair. 

Jason watches him as surreptitiously as possible, trying not to linger on the shift of muscle beneath that tight henley or those artfully distressed jeans. The man’s a walking magazine advertisement, no airbrush necessary. Jason has to check to make sure he hasn’t accidentally drooled, swiping the back of his wrist across his chin as he scoops up the mug and steps from behind the counter. 

He’s chosen the armchair in the window, the one that overlooks the mid-morning bustle of Gotham’s quieter street. The one positioned opposite M’s chair, and Jason shoves the thought from his mind as he bends to set a coaster on the coffee table. Glances up and comes face to face with the low cut V-neck of Apollo’s shirt. 

Jason could _cut himself_ on those collarbones. He’s just pulling back, vigorously and mentally shaking himself, when he notices the threads of white. They’re shaped into sharp little stars, weaving around the man’s clavicle in pale, almost imperceptible ink. A negative of a tattoo, Jason muses. 

Apollo catches his gaze when he notices the pause, following Jason’s gaze down to the constellation, and shifting as he asks, “Did you want a better look?” 

Then he pulls down the material with one long, crooked finger, and Jason has an unbroken view of the mural of pale ink. And beneath that, the slope of his chest, the shadowed promise of hewn abs and- Jason wonders idly if he’s got a dusting of light hair below his navel, whether it matches the rippling starlight of his stray locks. 

He jerks upright with a gulp, forcing himself to drag his gaze away from the man leaned forward in the armchair, watching him with sparkling curiosity. Before he can wring together an excuse to _flee,_ Apollo says brightly, “I like yours.” 

“Thanks,” Jason yelps, and turns on his heel before he can make the same mistake as he’d made with M. The man’s stare burns with the heat of a sun as Jason retreats, desperate to escape those soft affirmations. Jason’s not sure he’ll survive if Apollo calls his tattoo cute too. 

It doesn’t take many more mornings before Apollo sets his empty mug next to Jason’s worn copy of Pride and Prejudice on the counter, fingers lingering when Jason reaches to take it. He glances up at Apollo’s warm smile, and blinks when he instructs, “Don’t throw out the note,” as he taps the folded over napkin tucked beneath the ceramic. 

Jason’s still staring at it when the door chimes to herald the man’s departure, and then he pulls it free with a frown. 

_Note_ is a bit of a stretch. It consists of Apollo’s name in gorgeous, languid handwriting, and ten digits. The bubbling excitement in Jason’s chest sinks to slow-churning horror the longer he stares at it. 

He knows this number. Has the exact same ten digits scrawled across a page of Frances Cornford poetry pinned to the ordering board in the backroom. The one he’s memorised by heart - out of boredom, nothing else, he insists - but hasn’t worked up the courage to call yet. 

Is suddenly, blindingly relieved he hasn’t found the balls to call M, because now he’s managed to spare himself the panic of Apollo picking up the phone. 

Part of him wants to believe they’re just roommates, just two men with startlingly similar tastes for guys with dark hair and blue eyes that fit Jason’s approximate build and a polygot’s tongue - but Jason’s seen this game played out too many times before. He can’t shake the sight of the two armchairs by the front window, or the matching sun-and-moon motif tattoos on each of the men’s arms. Or the rings that Jason’s never spent the time before to notice which fingers they rest on. 

Jason has the deep, permeating surety that they’re husbands, or at the very least involved, and the longer he stares at the now far-less-than-innocent note in his palm, the more his stomach wrings itself into knots. 

They’re cheating on each other. 

They’re cheating on each other, and he’s had the sheer dumb luck to be the focus of both of them. If he wasn't so disappointed, he would laugh. 

But Jason very definitely doesn’t want to get anywhere near involved with that sort of bullshit. He’s seen enough iced lattes thrown in the faces of scumbag partners to know that he doesn’t want to be a mistress. Getting caught in an affair when these two dumbasses are stupid enough to both give him their _landline_ number is enough to have Jason’s blood pressure spiking. 

What if he’d called M? What if Apollo had picked up? What was he supposed to _say_? 

His throat feels dry, tight enough that swallowing doesn’t alleviate any of Jason’s discomfort. Or his regret. 

They’re both so damningly attractive. And they’d both taken an interest - a _real_ interest, not just a superficial throwaway fascination - in Jason. M has paid enough attention to notice Jason’s obsession with romance authors, even suggested some local bookstores for him to hit up on his days off. Apollo had mentioned when Jason had added caramel frosting to his favourite home-baked cakes, had been delighted when Jason had started adding over-sweet tarts and slices to the front cabinet. 

And Jason, stupid and gullible as he was, had lapped the attention up. Had tidied up after his regulars with a small, giddy little smile and a thrumming behind his sternum, because he’d thought, he’d thought- 

It doesn’t matter what he’d thought. He’s _not_ getting involved in this, whatever game these two are playing against each other. The last thing Jason needs in his life is the drama of being accused of sleeping with someone else’s partner. If they want to fuck up their relationship like that, that’s _none_ of his business. 

It doesn’t matter how interested they were in him. Or he in them. 

Jason swallows down the bitterness lingering on his tongue that has nothing to do with coffee tannins, and buries the floundering hope that he could still make this work with extreme prejudice. 

That evening, Jason yanks the page off the ordering board and throws both notes out with the day’s grounds. 

* * *

Jason should have known better than to assume either of them would have the decency to stop visiting his store. Should have known that his most recent regulars would be, well, _regular._

They still come into the cafe, smiling and coaxing him into conversation, in a way that yanks at the strings of Jason’s heart and only serves to fortify his resolve. He tries to remind himself that they’re both cheating - if not in practice, then in intention - on each other, tries to force the tight little ball of disappointment into something harder. Disgust, maybe. Or anger. 

He’s not sure he succeeds. More than anything else, Jason just feels grief for the loss of them. For the promise of something warm and bright between each of them, either of them. Jason feels like he’s lost both. 

He tries to avoid them as much as possible. Throws their orders together with none of his previous attentive care. Doesn’t engage in conversation with them for longer than it takes to run their credit cards or deliver the mugs to their table. Could barely stand to speak through the tightness in his throat the weekend morning they’d _both_ come into the cafe, together, and taken up their regular seats by the door. Nearly hadn’t been able to find it in him to approach where their hands had been curled together over the low table, fingers intertwined. 

Had felt nothing but loss at the way Apollo had laughed, sunlit and entrancing, at M’s gruff jokes, the sound ricocheting through the cafe like chimes to sear through Jason’s deflating chest. 

Jason can’t find it in himself to hate them. Can’t summon the energy when he’s too busy mentally kicking himself over his own stupidity. Too good to be true is a really spiteful reminder, when Jason lets himself think on it for long enough. 

He’s distracted, and he can tell they’re beginning to clue onto his standoffish politeness. A reflexive, defensive part of him hopes they’ll take the hint. That they’ll make this easier on everyone involved and find some other cafe to frequent. Hopes they _won’t,_ because even seeing them happy together, without him, brings some perverse little joy to Jason’s otherwise empty life. 

He’s sweeping down the floors in the empty cafe, five minutes to closing, when Jason spots two very stern looking men crossing the street towards his shop. One with a scowl that only looks better after exactly four shots of espresso, and one with a shock of bright hair that Jason knows is unbelievably soft if it tickles over your shoulder or wrist. 

And they’re headed straight for him, together. Jason’s pulse spikes. 

Maybe it’s cowardly, or childish, but Jason doesn’t hesitate to vault a coffee table in his haste to reach the door first. If he can lock it, he's sure his boss will forgive the few minutes lost, and more importantly, it will give Jason a whole evening to prepare himself for the morning's barrage. He'll take what small concessions the universe will give him, even if he has to take them by force. His nails have barely scraped the metal lock before it’s being yanked out of his grip by M’s firm fist. 

Jason backpedals, heart lurching up into his throat as the man barges in, lips a thin slash across his usually handsome face, and Jason feels a jolt of remorse sear through his panic at the sight of it. 

Apollo isn’t far behind, taking the time to press the door closed behind him when they spill into the shop. Jason eyes his exits, and prays the broom in his white-knuckled fists will be enough to deter them from enacting whatever revenge they’re planning on. He knows the hell-forsaken fury of a woman scorned, and he's not eager to find out what two well-built men like M and Apollo can do in the same amount of time. Even if their intention is just to chew him out for hitting on the others' partner, Jason's outnumbered and unprepared. He braces himself for the worst. 

It’s the sadness in those golden eyes that draws him up short, make the thrum of his galloping heart bleed to confusion. It permeates their glow, leeching the warmth from Apollo’s features, and when Jason glances at M’s own dejected expression, it saps the breath from him. 

“Hey, kid,” he says, voice rough and the barest bit hoarse. “We’ve got to talk.” 

Jason wets his lips, throws a glance at the backdoor, and says, “Okay.” 

M shares a look with Apollo, threaded with deep concern, and Jason seizes the opportunity to get ahead while he still can. 

“I’ll start,” he bleats, and waits until both of their gazes are firmly on him before he declares, “I didn’t sleep with either of you, so there’s been no affair, so you don’t need to go ahead with whatever this is-” 

“Affair?” Apollo repeats, confusion lacing across his brow. 

“What affair?” M interjects, and Jason stares in dumbfoundment. 

“The affair,” he says hoarsely, “between you two. Hitting on me. You both gave me your number.” 

Something clears behind M’s eyes then, washing the scowl from his features. Behind him, Apollo begins to laugh. 

“Holy hell, babydoll,” M mutters, dragging nails back through his hair. There’s a relieved little smirk tugging at his lips, and Jason's brain, traitor that it is, drinks down every molecule of joy in that expression like a man starved. “Way to give a guy a heart attack.” 

“We’re not having affairs,” Apollo explains, for Jason’s benefit. His tone is warm as honey, licking up Jason’s ribcage with its heat. “We’re both asking you out, Jason. _Together._ ” 

Jason can’t seem to draw in a full breath. He feels like he's taken a suckerpunch right up under his sternum. “Together?” 

“Yeah, princess,” M scoffs, teeth peeking between his lips as he devolves into a full-blown grin. “Together. As in, both of us. Mutually agreed upon. Not an affair, we promise.” 

“I thought,” he starts with dawning realisation, and feels when the blood rushes into his cheeks. “Wait, you’re not-?” 

“We came down here to clear it up with you,” Apollo says gently, taking another step closer. Jason’s knees knock. “You started avoiding us, and we wanted to know what we’d done to upset you. If we’d _known_ -” 

“We wouldn’t have let you work yourself up like this,” M finishes, gaze dragging lines of tingling heat over Jason’s skin. “As cute as you are when you blush.” 

Jason lifts his fists to drill them into his forehead, still gripping the broom, as if he can press out the heat there. He groans, long and reticent, and M chuckles. “So you’re not both hitting on me to have affairs. You want to… together? With _me_?” 

Long, gentle fingers lace around Jason’s wrists, tugging them open to bare his face. He feels like he could melt beneath their dual attentions, swallowing harshly as he glares down at Apollo’s boots. 

“With you, Jason,” Apollo repeats firmly, and then his lips twitch in a smile. “If you’ll have us.” 

“He will,” M says, that coyness leaking back into his tone. It’s a relief after the weighted, hoarse dejection. “Won’t you, babydoll?” 

Jason blinks at him, and then at Apollo, and mutters, “God, this is a lot to process.” 

The adonis still cradling Jason’s wrists shifts his grip to tug Jason towards the nearest armchair, relieving him of the broom and pressing him back into the leather. He goes pliantly, legs still wobbly, grateful when he can press his face into his palms and breathe for a moment. 

When he emerges, M is sitting on the low coffee table opposite, legs bracketing his, and Apollo’s hovering behind him, expression serene and patient. 

Jason meets M’s gaze first. “I threw out your phone number,” he confesses, and winces at his stupidity. “I don’t have it anymore.” 

M snorts. “Then I guess we’ll just have to have this conversation in person. Unless,” he says after a moment’s choked hesitation, searching Jason’s features, “you aren’t interested.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Jason hisses with the fleeting confidence of the misunderstood. “Of _course_ I’m interested. You’re- _God-_ ” 

“‘Gods’ is a good start,” M quips, and Jason shoots him a thin glare that earns him a bark of laughter. “Breathe, babydoll. You’re fine.” 

“I just didn’t think that you…” Jason mutters, wheeling a hand lamely through the air. “That you would both- _could_ both-” 

“We do,” Apollo answers anyway, and it soothes the churning pool of Jason’s stomach. Draws his shoulders out of their tight hunch with a rushed exhale. 

He takes a moment to look at them both, _really_ look at them, in their sunlit glory. The way they slide together so effortlessly, moving with each others’ tides. The way they move around him, orbiting like he’s the centre of their attentions, an unexceptional satellite in the pull of two suns. 

“How would this even work?” Jason croaks, and pauses to wet his lips. Uses the brief reprieve to mentally gather every waylaid shred of confidence he can muster up. “You two, with me. The three of us?” 

M glances up at Apollo, an inscrutable look shared between them before Apollo ventures, wary of startling him, “We don’t do things like this separately.” 

“Part and parcel of the same package, babydoll,” M translates. “You date us both, together, or not at all.” 

_Date,_ Jason’s mind purrs, the word rippling down the back of his spine like wildfire. He forces himself to swallow, breathe, and try to work down some of his blush as he wrings his hands out. 

“Good,” he says with conviction. His heart beats an eager bruise against his ribs as Jason tilts forward, leans into the idea like he can plunge headfirst into it. He _wants,_ so badly his chest aches. “I like that. I want that.” 

“Good,” Apollo echoes, flashing teeth in his smile when M shifts forward. 

Jason’s breath hitches, head spinning like a damn carousel when he says, that gravelly tone sinking straight into Jason’s core, “Gonna do something I’ve been wanting to do for a while, okay, babydoll?” 

Jason swallows, gaze fixed on M’s lips when he rolls the lower one between his teeth. He’s so _close,_ Jason could just grab him, refuse to let go. 

“Do me a favour,” M murmurs, halfway to a growl, and cages him in slowly as he lifts fingers to Jason’s face. “Don’t hold out on me.” 

M’s hand is warm on his jaw, though Jason barely notices because he’s busy being blindsided by just how damn _gentle_ M is with him. He touches Jason like he cradles his books, all fond wonder and ravenous intrigue. 

He pauses an inch from Jason’s lips, his breath tickling Jason’s skin when he glances up to meet those amused eyes. M’s watching him, marking every blink and shiver as it ripples over Jason’s face, eating him up with his eyes. He can feel the blush returning, warming his cheeks the wider M’s grin grows, so Jason does the only thing he knows to smother the heat radiating out of him. 

M gives him a half-startled grunt when Jason surges up to meet his lips, one hand wrapped tight in the front of the larger man’s shirt to hold him close, to reassure himself that this is _real_ when all his mind wants to do is spin itself into oblivion. 

M’s groan warps into breathless laughter after a moment, his other hand dropping to Jason’s waist, to yank him in by the strap of his apron, pull him towards M’s lap as the man devours him. He feels enormous, the weight of his hand worrying a bruise into Jason’s hip, and he melts into the sensation, sliding into the man’s lap. He barely spares a thought for the table that creaks beneath their combined weight, shifting atop M’s thighs so he can pour himself deeper into the man’s mouth, chase down his breaths like he’s drowning. 

When Jason pulls up for air, it’s with lips that feel bruised and swollen, and lungs that ache in his chest. He sits there for a few minutes, panting as he centres himself, wrestling his thundering heartrate back under control. 

M’s palm slides up his back, ratcheting his shirt up his spine a bit just so he can press that heat into Jason’s bared skin, and glances up at his husband, all smugness and exhilaration. 

Then Jason catches sight of Apollo’s expression, lined with awe, like he’s trying to imagine what Jason’s lips feel like on his; so Jason turns and answers his unspoken question. He tastes caramel-sweet, but there’s a heat to the way he meets him, pressing down into Jason’s mouth with a persistence that robs him of breath. He only manages to stay upright by the hand he still has fisted in M’s shirt, and the palm M lifts to cup his bicep, steadying him. 

When Jason pulls back for air, dazed and swimming in the sensation, it’s with M’s chuckle in his ear, teeth scraping his earlobe. “Easy, babydoll,” he purrs, and presses down. 

Jason groans at the pressure, at the shiver of a pulse that Apollo chases down his throat with teeth and tongue, stooping to grasp his other hip, to split Jason’s attention between them. 

He feels a clarity then, beneath the possessiveness of their grips, gasping air between the press of Apollo’s jaw around his windpipe and M’s growl in his ear. M’s hand has climbed higher on his back, working a thumbprint into the muscle there as Apollo squeezes a palm down on Jason’s thigh. 

“If we’re gonna date,” Jason says, stunned by his own coherency, and tosses the thought out when Apollo shifts to dig nails through his jeans, into the joint of his hip and thigh. He swallows down a moan and continues with effort, “then you two owe me a proper dinner.” 

They both pull off him slowly, and for a second Jason thinks he’s overstepped a line, pushed his luck farther than the universe is willing to grant him. But Apollo is still regarding him with that smouldering heat in his golden gaze, and M’s teeth look downright vicious in the fading afternoon light. 

“Oh, babydoll,” he growls, stroking down Jason’s spine just to enjoy the way he shudders hard at the sensation, “we’re gonna spoil you rotten.” 

Yeah, Jason could get used to that.


	2. Starlight

Their apartment is surprisingly minimalist, despite its sizeable footprint. Furnished in neutral tones and modern, neat styles. In any other home, it might be considered unloved, rebuffing; but to Jason, who knows how to make a small space homely, it looks lived in. 

It’s in all the little touches; unnoticeable to the untrained eye, but Jason likes to think he knows his new boyfriends a little better by now. So he spots the low bookshelf of short poetry in the living room, spines leaning around the empty space where a Frances Cornford novella would normally rest. He sees the fronds of a determined houseplant on the kitchen counter, lush in the golden light that spills through the balcony windows. 

The sun is setting, and it lights all the stark white tones up in a warm amber, the shadows casting the lounge set in inviting shades. It's here that Apollo directs Jason when he first arrives, taking his coat and hanging it in the foyer along with his worn red scarf. 

He feels a little bare without them, rubbing his arms self-consciously as he wanders over the dark floorboards towards the Gotham skyline. It’s a gorgeous gleam of glass and light, the concrete and brick almost soft in the dusk. 

“We just put dinner on,” Apollo says, almost apologetically, but for that quick flash of a smile. His hair is tied up behind his crown - almost thoughtlessly, if Jason had to guess - and what remains spills down to his shoulders and the neckline of his henley. 

It cuts in a deep V down his chest, exposing the faint white lines of his tattoo as he heads towards the galley kitchen, where M is playing solemn sentry over a stove. As Jason watches, Apollo slips an arm around his husband’s waist, pecking a quick kiss to his cheek when he turns slightly to acknowledge him on his way past. 

It makes a smile quirk on Jason’s lips, seeing their little displays of intimacy. Half the time they don’t even seem to notice they’re making them: a gentle press of lips to M’s cheekbone; a soft stroke of loose hair behind Apollo’s ear; a pair of fingers curling around a knuckle; the warmth of a palm on a hip. 

In the last few weeks that Jason has had the pleasure of knowing them, they’ve started using them on him. Hesitantly, at first; they’d been very careful not to be presumptuous with him, easing him into their overfamiliar touches and casual conversations. Checking with every trespass that they weren’t unnerving him. 

It’s sweet. Or at least, Jason thinks so. The sort of thing he reads in all his old novels, the things he didn’t think people did anymore - but is nonetheless delighted to find they do. 

There’s an ease to Apollo and M, a rhythm that Jason’s eagerly falling into. He can tell they’re obviously more familiar with one another than they are with him, but it’s rare that Jason feels like an outsider, even now that he’s watching them bustle around each other in the kitchen. 

He’d almost call their affection exhibitionist, but it’s not. It’d taken him a short while to work it out, to understand the way they look at each other. Like the world could crash down around them and they wouldn’t even notice. Like they’re pushing through each other’s orbits, turning in tandem around each other’s ellipses. It almost looks like, _feels_ like, tides. 

It’d been hard for Jason to keep his head above them in the beginning. Working out where he fell in between them was a challenge, but he’d been relieved to find they didn’t intend to let him flounder alone. 

They’d been swift to reassure him that he wasn’t an addition to their relationship, but an equal. Not an attachment but a core piece. No less important than either of them, and twice as cherished. 

Jason hates to admit how nervous he’d been at the start, how many nights he’d spent second-guessing their intentions, his place between them. Terrified that he was a passing interest, or a driving wedge. 

But from the first date, they’d made it very clear that he was here to stay, and so were they. 

He’s lost count of which number date this is, but it’s definitely the first date he’s spent in their apartment. And he can’t deny the rush that spreads through his chest at the reminder that they’d invited him into their _home._

It feels special, no matter how much he tries to brush it off, and Jason’s happy at the thought. Almost as happy as he is at how much it feels like he belongs here. It’s taken a while to shirk the feeling that he’s intruding, so the ease with which Jason is settling into their lives now warms him completely. He's nearly comfortable enough to call this home his, too. 

Jason’s drawn from his reverie by the swift movement of Apollo’s hands as he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, baring firm muscle as he crosses over to the wine rack. 

“Do you drink, Jason?” he asks, flashing a smile as he reaches for a pair of wine glasses. 

Leaning his elbows up on the counter, Jason lets his nervousness bleed into a warming smile. Reminds himself that he was invited here, and it’s his night to enjoy. “I could drink,” he answers. 

Apollo beams at that, laying out a third glass like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and reaching for an unopened bottle. “We don’t always break out the cabernet, but this seems like a special occasion for it.” 

Jason lifts a brow, watching those tendons flex when he uncorks the bottle with ease. “Special, is it?” 

“‘Course,” M pipes up from the stove, leaning one hip against the range as he stirs idly. Jason can’t see what’s in the pot from here, but he suspects it’s a sauce of some kind. “We pull out all the stops when we're courting.” 

It takes a moment for the joke to land, but then Jason’s laughing, bright and easy with the way M grins. “Courting, are you? You do this often?” 

M shakes his head, that smile not letting up, and turns back to peer into another softly bubbling pot before he adjusts one of the gauges. The aroma washes over Jason with the steam, and he inhales deeply, the smell settling into his lungs. “Only with you.” 

That reassurance washes over him like a balm, softening Jason's resolve. "Lucky me." 

Apollo draws the first wine glass towards himself, fingers deceptively gentle on the fragile stem as he pours. “You haven't gotten to try M's cooking yet,” he says conversationally, offering it to Jason. "You're in for a treat." 

M nods. “You gotta give me your verdict, kid. Tell me if I match up to the five star treatment.” 

It's absurd to think they could be nervous. Over _him._ But the thought thrills Jason more than he cares to admit; the idea that they're just as love drunk as he feels all the damn time. 

“So far so good,” Jason says drily, watching Apollo pour out two more before he corks the bottle and sets it on the counter. 

“I've got some aces up my sleeve,” M teases, stirring something in the pot on the backburner. “Wait til you hear my pick up lines.” 

Apollo offers M his glass, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek when he takes it gladly. “Maybe focus on the cooking for now, hmm?” 

The meal is delicious, which is hardly a surprise with the aromas that were drifting out of M’s kitchen. Buttery, smooth pasta lathered with richly seasoned tomato sauce. The meat practically melts in Jason’s mouth, thick chunks of steak that he chases around his plate eagerly as they chatter. 

They talk about work, and the shop, and books, and music, and a thousand other things that slide between them easily. It feels natural, with M on one side, licking pasta sauce from his lips, and Apollo on his left, twirling strands onto his fork. Time slips away, forgotten until Jason’s staring down at his nearly empty plate. 

“Did you want seconds?” M offers, while Apollo washes down his last mouthful with wine. 

Jason shakes his head, beaming. He feels comfortably full, warmed by the rich sauce and aftertaste that lingers on his tongue. “I’ve had heaps. That was fantastic, thank you.” 

“It’s an old family recipe,” M tells him with rich pride. The tines of his fork chime when he sets it down on the ceramic. “Had to dig out the book and everything. One of Apollo’s favourites.” 

Apollo nods, warm smile lighting up the features of his face. “I like all your cooking.” 

“Sure,” M agrees easily, grinning. “But you like my pasta best.” 

“That is true,” Apollo concedes, without any sign of a fight. Jason smothers a smile in his napkin. “I’m glad Jason got to taste your pasta though. The best first impression we could have asked for.” 

Jason laughs, fidgeting with his cutlery. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble for little old me.” 

“Sure we do, starlight,” M says, and Jason pauses. But no one laughs, and after a moment he lets the hesitant little grin spread across his features, picking at his pasta. 

Jason insists on washing up, after. It’s the least he can do after they’ve been so kind to host him, to put together such a delicious meal. They try to protest, but he stays firm until they reach a compromise. 

Stationing himself directly in front of the sink gives Jason the best excuse to keep his hands busy, and honestly, it’s the most relaxing place he can be. The centre of the kitchen as the pair of them bustle about him tidying up ingredients and unused plateware. 

Or, so Jason had thought. Up until M had plants himself right next to him with his sleeves rolled back up to his elbows and a dish towel in those long, artful fingers as he'd offered to dry. 

Jason’s having a hard time concentrating on the hot water and suds when his gaze is continuously drawn to the flex of M’s biceps, the steady sweep of his palm over the ceramics. They, for the most part, seem oblivious to it all, which is Jason's only saving grace. He keeps his head down while M chatters aimlessly with Apollo, who whisks everything away to their cabinets. Jason's not sure he succeeds in quashing the blush that he can feel heating his cheeks though. 

Every other minute, Jason finds himself absently reading the little poem tattooed across M’s wrist, woven into the piece on his arm. His mind drifts to the way those fingers look curled around a mug, brushing absently across pages, tracing grooves in the woodwork of the counter at the coffee shop. 

It’s incredibly distracting when they trail down Jason’s wrists, stroking the faint veins there whenever M reaches for a newly washed plate. They make his stomach flutter with each errant touch, his nerves make themselves known down the backs of his arms and neck. Every pore attuned to the way M leans into him with a teasing smile to take the wet cutlery from his trembling fingers. His breath hot where it fans over Jason’s already rosy cheeks. 

It’s hardly a wonder that he drops the pasta pot. It startles all of them, the metal clattering loudly in the sink, water washing sharply up the side as Jason fumbles to catch it. Suds go flying, splattering softly across the counter as embarrassment washes up over his ears and down to his collarbones. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he babbles over M’s reassurances, flustered when M reaches into the sink to salvage the submerged pot. Jason feels uncoordinated, stumbling behind their smooth movements when M steps in gently to take over. 

“Oh, starlight,” Apollo says when Jason steps back to give him room, taking up the dish towel to switch positions. His eyes are on Jason’s middle, brow pinched in concern. “Your clothes.” 

Jason follows his gaze down to the dark stain at his midsection, unnoticed in the havoc. Half his shirt is completely soaked through, his jeans a damning mess as Jason melts from the heat saturating his cheeks. 

“Shit,” he mutters, and paws uselessly at the sopping mess with the towel as he casts around for a solution to pry itself from the woodwork. Anxiety worms swiftly through his stomach, the trepidation that he’s ruined the evening with his clumsiness seeping through his pores with startling speed. “Shit, I’m sorry.” 

Apollo smothers a palm over his hip, warm even through his jeans, and fingers the damp material between two digits. “It’s alright.” 

“Nothing to apologise for, starlight,” M concurs from his station at the sink. He’s finishing up, setting the last pot aside to dry and wringing the suds out of his palms. “It happens.” 

“I made a mess of your kitchen,” Jason bemoans, brow pinching as he eyes the state of the counters and washboard. 

“Easily fixed,” M reassures him calmly, while Apollo takes the towel gently from Jason’s slack fingertips to set it aside. 

“We’ve got a shower you can use,” he tells him, guiding him out of the kitchen with a condoling palm to the small of Jason’s back. He goes easily, ducking his head to hide his blistering cheeks. “And a bedroom you can change in. Really, it’s fine, starlight. Don’t kick yourself over it.” 

“Sorry,” Jason mumbles again. 

He frets in the bathroom while Apollo retrieves a towel from the cabinets, nodding as the man nervously points out the body wash and the laundry basket and all manner of other things. His smile is bright and reassuring, his touches comforting even though Jason wishes he could just melt into the tile. 

Jason’s only a little bit relieved when Apollo leaves him to his devices, closing the door softly behind himself. 

The heat and water pressure helps to wash away some of his guilt, the steam calming him down from the flustered state Jason had worked himself into. He scrubs down beneath the wash of water, smiling to himself when he steps out smelling like Apollo’s soap. 

Apollo had been considerate enough to leave him two towels, so Jason tucks one around his waist while he dries his hair, pausing to stroke fingers through the pale white streak in the mirror. His reflection’s eyes look calm when he meets them, and Jason lets his shoulders fall out of their tense hunch, exhaling deeply. 

He just panicked, that was all. He’d been so determined to ensure the night was perfect, that he was good enough to live up to their expectations. Even though Jason _knows_ M and Apollo will take him as he is, come rain or shine, he can’t help but want to reach their heights, stretching up to brush their sky high above him. 

They’ve been so good to him these past months. Enamoured in a way Jason never thought would be reciprocated. 

But seeing the light in their eyes, the joy on their features, when he steps into a room has Jason’s heart melting every time, chest thundering with their excitement. It’s hard not to be swept up by their enthusiasm whenever he’s in their presence, and Jason falls into it willingly. 

He didn’t know he could ask for this, let alone have it. At times he wonders how he could have missed this, how close he’d come to missing it. A tiny spiral of fear at the thought that he could have thrown out their number and never heard from them again. 

Then he remembers the warmth of Apollo’s palm in his, and the scrape of M’s teeth over the shell of his ear when he leans in to whisper in Jason’s ear, the heat that pulses through him every time he’s in their proximity, drawn into their orbit. Jason thinks that he would have found his way to them eventually, a comet drawn unremittingly to their galaxy. 

There’s something inexorable about their love, expansive and unassuming. Easy to fall into, he thinks. Hard to pull away from. Like gravity. 

The soft rap of knuckles on the door has Jason nearly jumping out of his skin, thoughts of stars and sun motifs slipping from his thoughts. 

“Everything okay in there?” Apollo’s voice entreats, hesitant and plaintive. “Did you find the towels alright?” 

Jason clears his throat softly as he turns away from his reflection. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.” 

A pause, tinged with nervous energy. “Did you need us to bring you anything?” 

“Give the guy some space, A.” M’s voice joins the fray behind the wood, chastisement curled around mirth. “Starlight, we’ll be out here when you’re ready, ‘kay?” 

Jason nods at his reflection and calls back, “Okay. Thanks.” 

“Anytime, starlight.” 

That nickname, spoken so casually, makes Jason’s ears heat. He’s almost glad for the door between them, because it gives him a chance to work down his blush before gripping the towel tight around his waist and stepping out. 

M’s standing outside when he does emerge, leaned back on the dresser. Trying to look casual, if Jason had to guess, though it doesn't quite hide the relief the sweeps down his shoulders at Jason's emergence. His concern is endearing, drawing a soft smile to Jason’s lips when he glances over to Apollo where he sits on the bed. 

“We weren’t sure if you wanted to borrow some clothes, or wait for yours to dry,” Apollo admits. 

Jason can tell he’s still nervous, so he gives them his most genuine smile. It comes easier than he expected, his nerves sapping in their presence. “I can wait. I’m comfortable like this,” he adds, gesturing down the front of himself. 

He realises his mistake a moment later when both their gazes slide down the length of his torso in heated unison, drinking him down. Savouring him, from crown to toes, until their eyes flick back up. 

“Looking good, starlight,” M interjects in a low, thick tone. 

It’s not salacious, even though there’s a definite heat there. It doesn’t surprise him, the _more_ behind that timbre, the want that’s echoed in Apollo’s stare. But it also doesn’t scare Jason like it used to, the pressure to chase his partners’ needs, to give more than he was willing to. He doesn’t feel that with them; doesn’t think he ever will, if he’s honest with himself. 

“You know,” Jason says, shaking his head in slow bemusement. “When you invited me over tonight, I thought it was because you were going to make the moves on me.” 

Apollo shares a look with M that has Jason laughing. 

“Maybe I just missed those signals, then?” 

Smiles spread sheepishly across their faces, and Apollo runs a hand back through his loose hair. “We had _hoped,_ ” he hedges, “but we didn’t assume. We’d be just as happy if you left right after dinner. We’d hate for you to feel like you have to-” 

“Your company’s enough, starlight,” M confirms, quiet and confident. Jason smiles down at his toes, shifting aimlessly. 

“Thanks. I, uh, I didn’t really know where I wanted tonight to go when I came here, if I’m honest.” Jason looks up, holding each of their gazes. “But I’ve had a great time. Really, I can’t name a time I was this happy.” 

Apollo’s eyes glimmer above his smile. “We’re glad to hear that. We don’t want to rush you, starlight. Whenever you feel ready, we’ll be here for you. That can take as long as it needs to.” 

Jason chuckles, shaking his head. “Honestly? If you’d asked me before tonight, I would have told you no. But, after tonight…” He rolls his lower lip between his teeth, trying to clamp down on the spiral of nerves that fission up behind his sternum. “I think I’d like to be asked.” 

Apollo’s brows rise, M shifting his weight forward as he pulls off the dresser. They exchange a quick look, something asked and answered in the brief moment their gazes meet. 

Then M’s uncrossing his arms, hands sliding comfortably into his pockets as he lifts his chin to hold Jason’s gaze steadily and asks, “Would you like to come to bed with us, starlight?” 

From the way his heart skips a little bit in his chest, Jason knows his answer before it even leaves his lips. “Yes.” 

And if he had any doubts, they evaporate at the way their faces light up at that single word. They look like they’re glowing, radiating joy that spills onto their features, unquenchable. It’s contagious, sending Jason’s nerves spiralling again, a thrill travelling the length of his spine. 

Apollo’s smile is entrancing, beguiling. “Come lay down with me, starlight.” 

Something beckons behind Jason’s navel, stokes the bundle of nerves in his stomach as he approaches the bed. M’s gaze follows him, quiet and unassuming, until he sits himself up at the head of the bed, in the shadow of Apollo’s blazing smile. 

M settles quietly at the foot, giving them space as Apollo reaches up to tuck a loose curl behind his ear. The motion is quiet and unassuming, and that, more than anything, makes Jason relinquish the last of his nervousness to lean into Apollo’s touch. 

“Let’s start easy, okay?” Apollo suggests, flashing another one of those breath-stopping smiles. There’s an unspoken reassurance there, a promise that with the slightest protest, this will all cease. 

Jason’s hand grips tighter into the fibres of Apollo’s shirt. His hand comes up, palm slow and easily trackable as it cradles Jason’s jaw. Just settles its weight there, fingertip stroking gently over his cheek until he exhales. 

Apollo’s gaze flickers down to his lips, and Jason’s is drawn to his when his tongue peeks out to lick them. Like he’s anxious to get closer to Jason, thrilled by the proximity of him. 

It’s a startling thought, that Apollo could be made nervous by _him,_ when it’s Jason who feels like he’s disintegrating in the pull of two planets. 

As if reminded, Jason’s gaze slips to the foot of the bed, to where M sits patiently, watching them in the dim light. There’s a calm wonder on his features, as if watching them is contentment in and of itself. 

It’s this approval, this quiet, unacknowledged thing, that makes the tension wash out of Jason. Makes him close the meagre distance between their lips to sigh against Apollo’s tongue. 

It’s like a dam breaking. A trickle of lips parting, of hands suring, building in force and pressure until they’re swallowing each other’s breaths. It’s just as stunning as the first time he’d kissed Apollo, back in the coffee shop. Just as consuming. 

But it’s nowhere near as soft, nowhere near as patient. Apollo kisses him like every inch of Jason is a new and wondrous thing to explore, every second a gift as he pulls him hard against his lips. 

Jason laughs into the feel of it, breathless and teetering on the edge of overwhelmed as Apollo’s warm hands slip from his jaw to more comfortably cup his neck, a thumb hitched against his collarbone. 

Shifting across the sheets, confined by the tangle of Apollo’s limbs, Jason leans deeper into that embrace, takes a tentative grasp of Apollo’s waist with shaking fingers. It’s almost frustrating, how their bodies get in the way, the press of them together a cruel reminder of tangibility, when all Jason wants to do is melt into Apollo’s hot skin. 

“Love…” 

It’s a pained entreaty, nearly quiet enough that Jason doesn’t hear it. When he turns towards the anguish in that tone, it’s to find M watching them. His brow is pinched, his hands fisted in the sheets, and the yearning wonder in his blown pupils sets Jason’s heart racing. 

Apollo glances to him first, gauging Jason’s reaction before he reaches out for his husband, ring glinting in the darkness. A starry guide that draws M into their embrace when he crawls eagerly up the mattress. 

His hands go to Apollo first, groaning deep when he meets his lips. Apollo lets him control it, lets him lick his way into the man’s mouth like he could drink Jason down just from the residue. There’s a desperation to it, a thrill in the curl of M’s spine when he breaks free. 

His touch is gentle though, just as careful as the first time he’d cradled Jason's face, and Jason spills easily into his palms. Eyes slipping closed, he basks in the grateful groan M gives him, tongue working him open slowly, worshipping where Apollo had been ravenous. 

When he pulls up with a strangled gasp, it’s to mutter, “Jesus, starlight.” Then he’s back between Jason’s laughing lips. 

Apollo’s hands don't idle in the meantime. His mouth goes to the curve of M’s shoulder, but his golden eyes stay fixed on Jason, on his every expression as that hand travels leisurely down the slope of Jason’s chest. Mapping him out in skin and scar, every scrape of his nails sending a tingle down to the root of Jason’s spine. 

His skin feels like it’s a bundle of nerves, every sensation igniting the core of him, every nerve singing with Apollo’s heat. It’s overwhelming, caught between the pair of them, as M breaks off his lips to suck down the line of his throat with soft-mouthed kisses. Jason’s not sure where to put his hands, fingertips sliding down the slopes of their muscles, gripping hard every time M’s teeth press against his skin. 

All at once, he wants to be closer, feel their skin with his own palms; the way theirs are fused to him. 

Jason breaks free of M’s lips to wrap a hand in Apollo’s shirt and gasp, “Can we?” 

They’re shifting immediately, pulling back enough that Apollo’s hands can go to the edge of his shirt, peeling it up that long torso until it’s sliding off his arms. Jason ducks to kiss the soft skin above his navel, exploring the valleys of his stomach as Apollo wrestles the material free. 

He hooks his fingers around Apollo’s belt, lips climbing to his sternum as Jason tugs his buckle free with distinct impatience. Apollo chuckles, swaying into the force of Jason’s eagerness as he fumbles with the zipper. 

Apollo takes over for him, allowing Jason to watch M toss his shirt across the room, pants already undone and shoved down his hips. Jason can see the swell of him through his briefs, a growing tent in the black material when he slides a hand down to palm his cock. 

M groans, nice and loud, against Jason’s mouth when they crash together, one hand dropping to squeeze his ass unabashedly. It draws a smile to Jason’s lips as he strokes M slow and teasing through the thin cotton, confidence growing when M rocks his hips into the touch. He pulls Jason’s hips against one large thigh, granting him a friction he didn’t realise he needed until the coarse touch ignites something in him. 

The groan that leaves his throat is loud, even with the pulse slamming in Jason's ears. Apollo rejoins them after a moment, warmth radiating from his bare skin when he lowers his mouth to kiss Jason’s shoulder. One arm slips around Jason’s waist, the other pulling M closer as they rut shallowly. 

Jason needs to see him though, needs the sight of the man to sate his hunger. When he pulls back to drink down all of Apollo in his glorious nudity, it knocks the breath from his lungs. 

He’s aware of M laughing in his ear, teeth closing on the lobe when he mutters, “He’s a sight to see, isn’t he, starlight?” 

Jason nods dumbfoundedly, uncaring of his stupefaction when Apollo smiles broadly at their praise. It’s a good look on him, but everything is, so Jason lets his hands fall to the slope of Apollo’s stomach, heat pressing back against his fingers when they trail down to the base of his stiffening cock. 

“Let me?” Jason asks through his lashes. 

Apollo sucks in a sharp breath, and nods minutely, pulling his arm back to let Jason roll over. 

He settles on his elbows, layering his palms over Apollo’s strong hips, thumbs tracing the divots of his muscles as he ducks to press his lips to the man’s head. It’s warm, like everything else about him, twitching beneath Jason’s soft touch as he parts lips to kiss beneath Apollo’s crown. 

Apollo doesn’t stay _perfectly_ still, but he does try. Even when Jason’s confidence grows, galvanised by the soft little hitches in Apollo’s breaths, the gasps that spill over his lips when Jason drags his up the length of the man’s shaft. 

By the time Jason actually takes Apollo into his mouth, the man’s pupils are blown, golden irises consumed by the burn of that black, ravenous in their depth. They look like a blackhole, sucking Jason down until he feels dizzy with the intensity of them. 

M shuffles closer, shucking his briefs to hitch Jason’s leg over his shoulder. He supposes he should feel embarrassed, as exposed as he is, but he doesn’t. Doesn’t feel anything other than thrilled when M reaches into the end table to retrieve the lube. 

When his slick palm wraps around Jason’s cock where it lays heavy against his thigh, he moans, the sound echoed by Apollo above him. His hands are calloused, the hitches of tiny healed-over papercuts delectable as they slide over the sensitive flesh, attentive to every shiver and twitch Jason gives him. 

M takes note of it all, of the way Jason hums when he rolls his palm over the head, how he keens when M rolls his balls in his other hand. The minute tremble of his spread thighs when M squeezes just this side off too tight on the upstroke. 

His teasing is maddening, and Jason’s aching for more before he knows it, his eagerness translating into the way he worships Apollo’s cock with his lips and tongue. It’s edging into desperation by the time M reaches for the lube again, one wet finger returning to prep him. 

Jason sighs into the slow drag, the gentle way M breaches him, letting him adjust to the intrusion as he’s good and ready. There’s no impatience, but that eagerness remains in the way M looks when Jason glances at him out of the corner of his eye. The awe that settles on his features, the hunger that stains his pupils when he adds a second and Jason arches down into the touch. 

It’s only when he’s scissored Jason open nice and easy that he finally deigns to crook his fingers and send Jason bowing into Apollo’s thigh with a needy whine. M gives him a low chuckle for that, even as Apollo reaches down to pet at his damp hair, brushing it back off his forehead as Jason shifts his angle to take the man deeper. 

His focus is shot, with the way M hones in on that spot with unerring precision, but Jason wants to do this right, wants to give Apollo this. So he hollows his cheeks and sucks him down until he’s nudging the back of his throat, and then a little further. 

Apollo groans so deep Jason feels the vibrations up through his cock, the air coming sharp in his lungs when Jason pulls up for air before diving back down again. 

M kisses the side of his thigh, brushes lips down the tremble of Jason’s muscles when he presses in a third finger and works Jason to a fever pitch. 

He almost feels guilty, neglecting M’s own cock while he takes Apollo’s. But when he lifts off Apollo to reach down the length of M’s body, he catches his hand with the fingers that aren’t buried in his ass. 

The look he gives Jason is sweet and adoring, as is the kiss he presses to Jason’s knuckles. “Don’t you worry about me,” he murmurs, lips brushing fire over his skin as Jason inhales shakily. “Let me take care of you.” 

“Starlight, come here,” Apollo murmurs, guiding Jason up the length of his body. M withdraws, sitting up as Jason straightens to climb into the blonde man’s lap. It thrills him, more than a little, how easily Apollo adjusts him, gently moving him into position until he’s reclined against that chest. 

M’s hands are warm on his thighs, large and secure as Apollo reaches between them to guide himself into Jason’s waiting hole. He goes slow, slower than Jason necessarily needs, all the care and concern evident in his reassuring touches as M lowers Jason onto his husband’s cock. 

Jason crooks his thighs, sighing when he settles flush against Apollo’s hipbones, the warmth of him bleeding through the smaller man’s shoulder blades. Apollo adjusts him, gently, considerately, as Jason lists back into his embrace, grinding against the fullness of him as M takes a slow kiss from Apollo's lips. 

Jason tilts his head aside until he can see the tattoo of stars across Apollo’s collarbones, the ink blurring into a milky way as he exhales a shuddering breath. 

Apollo’s hand is lifting to pet across his brow, soothe the press of his lungs with a kiss against his crown. “Doing alright, starlight?” 

He hums a reply, eyelashes slipping closed at Apollo’s responding chuckle. 

Jason’s aware of M shifting, hands slipping from beneath Jason’s thighs to grip his waist. Squeezing gently before he’s climbing into Jason’s lap. That garnishes his interest, blue eyes slipping open to drink in the sight of the larger man as he straddles him, M’s grin bright and blinding as it fills his view. 

He reaches between them to slick up Jason’s cock again, touch not inconsiderate, but far more impatient than Apollo’s had been. It draws a smile to Jason’s lips, a rosiness flooding through his chest at how eager M is to be on him, to be closer to him. 

He slides his own palms up around M’s ribs, under his arms, to hitch nails into the back of his shoulders. M leans into his touch with a huff of laughter, weight settling over Jason’s hips as he eases himself down around Jason’s cock. 

“Not too heavy for you, am I, starlight?” M asks, bending to peck the rise of Jason’s cheekbone. It’s startlingly intimate, incredibly pure, and it makes his blush return twofold. 

Jason sures his grip on M’s back, rocking up experimentally into him. His affirmation is stolen when the friction shifts Apollo within _him,_ warping the sound into a needy groan. 

Embarrassment is swift, eased by M’s easy laugh and soothing kisses. He sucks the heat from Jason’s jaw and throat and collarbones, palm splayed across his flank as Apollo chases the blush down the back of his neck. 

Jason just breathes, caught between them, pressed but not crushed between their weights as they lather their affection over his skin. Kissing promises into the constellation of his freckles like they can brand them in his flesh. 

By the time M starts to move - a slow grind that barely counts as movement, but for the way it snatches the air from Jason’s lungs - he’s slumped entirely back against Apollo’s bulk, sinking into the sensations of them both. M shifts slightly, knees bracketing Jason and Apollo both as he loops his arms around their necks and begins to rise. 

Jason can’t do much more than tilt his hips to catch him on each fall, breathing softly as M’s lashes flutter at the friction. His breath is hot where it fans across Jason’s cheeks, his eyes hooded and hungry when they drop to Jason’s lips, joined quickly by his insistent mouth. 

He kisses Jason like he’s starving, like he could melt into Jason’s lungs and rest there around his heart. It makes Jason want to have him closer, palms fused to his back as he moans openly between M’s lips. 

He’s distantly aware of Apollo moving behind and beneath him, palms wrapping around Jason’s waist and under his thigh to lift him. He times it perfectly, and Jason plants his feet to assist, chasing M on every rise and falling into Apollo with every drop. They pick up a rhythm quickly, grinding in tandem against each other as Jason breaks free to breathe. 

M’s lips climb immediately to find Apollo’s, brow pinching at the press of his lover’s lips. 

Jason wishes he could focus enough to join in, to tongue down the firm ridges of M’s muscles, but it’s taking all of his concentration just to stay in tandem with them. It’s overwhelming, both of them so hot, inside him and around him. Pressing him between their frames until all of him is smothered by their love. A satellite caught in the orbits of two planets. 

They break apart after a moment, lips returning to Jason’s skin as their breaths descend into broken moans and panting, Jason’s own cries lost between them as they adjust tempo. It’s rougher, no less careful but twice as desperate, as they all adjust to a deeper need. M reaches past Jason to grip the headboard, head bowing as he pants roughly. Fucks himself down on Jason like he can’t feel him enough, can't get him deep enough. 

Jason wraps a hand over the man’s cock, thrilled at the grateful cry it produces, and sets to work driving M to his edge. Apollo wraps an arm around the Jason’s middle, driving into the smaller man with a force that is incredible, striking his prostate on every drop. 

Jason alternates between sucking bruises into the hollow of M’s throat and being devoured by Apollo’s lips. Chasing both of them in endless, dizzying circles until they’re all teetering on the edge. 

“Fuck, starlight,” M groans, deep in his core, clenching hard when he comes. 

It splatters over Jason’s stomach, the force of M’s cry vibrating through his chest as Jason milks him through it with firm, steady strokes. 

M rides him for as long as he can bear, powerful thighs trembling around Jason’s hips as he whines from the overstimulation. Jason watches on in wonder, burying his head in M’s shoulder when he comes from the sight alone. 

The world devolves into a wash of white and light, everything but the press of their warm bodies around him fading to the background. He’s vaguely aware of Apollo stiffening behind him, of him emptying into Jason with a breathless moan, burying himself as deep between Jason’s hips as he can reach. As if he can’t bear not to be closer. Possessive and gracious all at once. 

Jason’s breath slows to match the tempo of their hearts, thundering back against his own chest as they lean into one another. Still and content for a moment in their bliss. 

M’s the first to collapse back onto the sheets, limbs sprawling across the width of the mattress. Boneless in his satisfaction in a way that makes Jason admire the soft grin on his lips. Knowing that he’s responsible for putting it there, that he made M feel that good, draws a smile to his own. 

Apollo shifts him, one strong forearm around Jason’s waist as he pivots them both. It’s a little thrilling, how easily they can both just move Jason around. Like he weighs nothing, like he’s something delicate and priceless, treated with the utmost care. 

Apollo tips him gently onto the bed, chuckling at Jason’s sigh and M’s groan when he rearranges their limbs back onto the mattress. Then he bends to press a kiss to Jason’s temple, fingers threading through his damp hair. “Stay there until you’re ready to come out,” he whispers, pulling back. “I’m going to put on a pot of coffee.” 

“No sugar,” M slurs around the pillow he’s buried in, and Apollo gives his ass a playful swat as he passes. 

Jason stays curls around the monolith of a man until the sharp aroma of freshly brewed coffee rouses him from a half-slumber. Apollo’s broad forearm winds around Jason’s waist, the bed dipping beneath his weight when he leans over him. 

“Are you staying the night, then?” he teases when Jason only lists into his touch. 

He pries his eyes open, sliding to meet that warm golden smile. “I could be persuaded.” 

“The coffee is decaf,” Apollo answers with, and Jason hides his grin in the mattress, pushing into a sit when Apollo shifts over to his husband. 

M growls a deep warning when Apollo sucks a slow string of kisses down the nape of his neck. Jason settles back against the headboard to watch them, sheets pooling around his waist as he cradles the nearest mug in his palms. 

If he strains, he can just make out pieces of the words Apollo is whispering into the shell of M’s ear, interspersed with gentle nips. A poem of ‘sweetest’ and ‘my love’ and ‘moonlight’ that stir a blush on M’s half-hidden cheeks. 

He rouses with a grumble, letting Apollo tuck him into his lap with a placid smile before he hands him the darkest brew. 

“So,” Apollo continues, turning to address Jason as M drinks deep. His own coffee sits untouched. “Did you want to stay the night?” 

Jason glances down at himself. “I’m going to need another shower.” 

“That could be fun,” M interjects over the rim, teeth flashing in a smile that is all mischief. 

“A shower we can do.” 

“Clothes too,” Jason adds with a little laugh. Apollo’s hand shifts from where it rests on M’s thigh to pet over his hip, working circles into the muscle. 

“I’m not sure we’ll have anything that fits,” he admits, “but we’ll make it work.” 

Jason’s struck with the sudden picture of himself swimming in one of M’s large shirts, curled between their sleeping bodies. He wonders absently whether M’s shirts smell like Apollo, and whether Jason’s clothes will smell like them with time. 

The thought brings a faint flush to his cheeks, and Jason sips at his cup to see off the worst of it. Apollo sees it anyway, eyes crinkling in a smile when he bends to kiss the top of Jason’s temple, a mirror of his earlier touch. 

“When you finish your coffees, you two can take a shower and I’ll change out the sheets.” 

“Are you joining us for the shower?” M asks. 

Apollo trails his fingertips over the man’s scalp, tracing his ear. “I’m sure you two can manage without me.” 

M hums, flashing Jason a heated sideways glance. “Going to be a long shower.” 

Jason snorts, softening the glare Apollo gives their counterpart. M tilts his throat open, nodding toward the open bathroom as he sets his empty mug aside, beckoning Jason to follow when he rolls back onto the balls of his feet. “C’mon, starlight, let’s go make him jealous.” 

“You’re not gonna get tired of calling me that, are you?” Jason teases, padding across the carpet after him. 

M tosses a grin over his shoulder, sweeping him into the warm light. “Never, starlight.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very happy birthday, Scandal! Thank you immeasurably for your patience while we put this together. Hope you had a fantastic day, and hope you enjoyed this little conclusion. ♥️

**Author's Note:**

> Writing by [Meaninglessblah](https://linktr.ee/meaninglessblah).  
> Art by [ride-the-dinos](http://ride-the-dinos.tumblr.com/).


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